


\r\n

by keita52



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Series, always and forever Team Shoot, general character stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/pseuds/keita52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for the POI universe following 5x13, “Return 0”.</p><p>Updated as inspiration strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zoe Morgan

**Author's Note:**

> The title means 'carriage return + new line' in Java, PHP, and Python.
> 
> Note that this fic will treat everything shown in the show as canon - meaning, among other things, that Root and Reese are both dead.

Zoe looks at all the texts on her phone that she has sent in the past few days, that have gone unanswered.

She doesn’t usually reach out to John like this. And she should be keeping her distance, knowing that John has decided to pursue something serious with the police shrink.

On the other hand, what’s been happening in the past two weeks has Harold Finch written all over it, even if she has no idea as to exactly how. Which means John is also part of it; a major part.

Zoe hears a knock on the door. She grabs her gun from the table next to her and releases the safety, chambering a round before she gets up and walks over. She looks through the peephole, and relaxes when she sees Sameen Shaw there, unloading the gun and putting the safety back on before she lets the other woman inside.

Bear bounds through the door happily as soon as it’s opened, nudging her hand and wagging his tail. Zoe has to smile as she pets him.

“Shameless,” Shaw comments as the lock clicks into place.

“Don’t listen to her, Bear,” Zoe says in a crooning voice that most of her clients would never believe could pass her lips. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little attention.” The good humor she feels at Bear’s obvious affection evaporates as she looks up at Shaw. “What’s happened?”

Shaw doesn’t ask what Zoe means. Zoe has always liked that about her. Shaw meets Zoe’s gaze unflinchingly and says, “John’s dead.”

Zoe’s heart constricts. She takes a deep breath, feeling a sharp stinging in her eyes as the tears threaten to start. She takes another deep breath to calm herself. Zoe Morgan does not break down weeping, even for the death of someone she cared about - someone who gave her amusement and joy. Part of her had known this was how it would end, with what John was always up to. Putting himself in dangerous situations for complete strangers in pursuit of some greater purpose.

It’s never easy, confronting the unpleasant realities of this world. Zoe knows that better than most.

“Thank you,” Zoe gasps. It might seem an inappropriate reaction to being told of a loved one’s death, but Shaw nods, showing that she understands what Zoe is trying to say. _Thank you for telling me the truth, for not leaving me with unanswered texts and calls, always wondering what happened to him._

Shaw walks to Zoe’s liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of bourbon, then pours two glasses. Shaw has never been in Zoe’s apartment before - that Zoe knows of. Somehow, Zoe wouldn’t put it past Shaw to have broken in here and then left without Zoe knowing anyone had been there. Zoe isn’t disturbed by the idea - if Shaw had done that, it would be a mark of respect and trust.

Such a strange world she got herself mixed up in.

Zoe takes the offered glass of bourbon and allows herself to sink into her comfortable arm chair. Shaw perches on the edge of the couch with Bear at her feet. The bourbon brings some welcome warmth, dulling the grief that is threatening to overwhelm her. Zoe holds out the empty glass for a refill. She resists the urge to down this one quickly. Instead, she looks back up at Shaw. “Who else?”

Shaw stares back at her for a long moment, the hard expression on her face softening slowly. Pain of her own is leaking through, Zoe realizes suddenly, and Shaw’s single word confirms Zoe’s half-formed guess. “Root.”

Zoe fights back the impulse to say _I’m so sorry._ Instead, she raises her glass, and Shaw follows suit. A _clink_ , and then both women are downing the alcohol.

Shaw toys with her glass, looking at the floor. “Finch is gone. Overseas. Might never see him again. Fusco’s back to being a cop first.”

“Good for him,” Zoe says, and she means it. She knew _of_ Fusco before she knew he was working with John. What she had known then was nothing good, but she knows he’s a different man now.

The silence reigns, broken only by the sound of Bear’s contented sigh as he flops on his side. “I want to know,” Zoe says finally. “I want to know everything.”

She expects Shaw to deflect and defer, as the others did so many times, but Shaw appears to be considering the request. Shaw lifts her head and looks _past_ Zoe, almost as though listening to someone else. Zoe notices that Shaw’s still wearing the omnipresent earbud. If everyone that Zoe knew of is out of the game - who’s talking to Shaw?

“This is one of those no-turning-back moments,” Shaw says finally. “If I tell you, nothing will ever be the same.”

Zoe snorts. “Nothing was ever the same the minute I met John.”

“Yeah,” Shaw agrees. “But… seriously, Zoe. This is conspiracy theory level stuff. You wouldn’t believe half of it.”

Zoe Morgan leans forward on her elbows and looks Shaw squarely in the eyes. “Try me.”

Shaw sighs. “Just remember. You asked for it.” 

* * *

 In a forgotten subway station, The Machine designates Zoe Morgan as an asset.


	2. Lionel Fusco

There’s an investigation. Fusco’s asked the same stupid questions a million times, and he sticks to the lies he came up with before he re-entered the precinct. No matter how dire the threats - stated or implied - he holds firm. He’s faced worse.

It takes weeks of desk duty, of catching up on the paperwork that he’s missed and then being given busy work - but he finally gets reinstated. Fusco doesn’t ask how his superiors came to that conclusion. The fact that it took weeks is actually reassuring. It means that there was no inexplicable pressure to get him back on duty and clear his name. Fusco’s had enough of that kind of thing.

Crime returns to normal. People hurt other people for stupid reasons. Fusco keeps a wary eye on the temporary partners he gets, looking for a hidden agenda that probably isn’t there. The last few years have made him almost as paranoid as Glasses.

When enough time has elapsed that suspicion is off him, he quietly pulls strings and gets Dani Silva assigned as his partner. If he has to work with someone, he wants it to be someone he can trust - and he knows Silva. They don’t talk about it, but she gives him a knowing, grateful smile the first time she takes the desk across from his.

Every so often he gets an anonymous tip that leads him straight to a crime in progress. He thinks he sees a brown-haired woman in a long black coat at some of these crime scenes, but he doesn’t look very hard. Shaw knows how to reach him if she wants to.

One day he comes in to find a folder on his desk with a photo inside, no indication of who left it there. A date from last month is written on the back in block letters.

The photo is of a man and a woman, holding hands in front of a priest. The man has glasses and spiky black hair. The woman has bright red hair.

 _So, Glasses finally got the girl,_ Fusco thinks, smiling, and then slides the folder and its photo into his desk, underneath a stack of other papers.


	3. Leon Tao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jann and Emma Knightley for their suggestions.

“Hello, Leon.”

Leon jumps at the familiar, sinister female voice that comes seemingly from nowhere. He’s gotten more paranoid in the last few years, and he knows that he remembered to lock all the locks and secure his apartment.

“What the hell do you want from me?” Leon blurts. “I haven’t pissed anyone off this time, I swear!”

“I know.” The woman Leon once transported in an ambulance that needed more tranquilizers than an angry bear steps out from the shadows, into Leon’s field of view. “You’ve been a very good boy, Leon. I wouldn’t have thought someone like you could learn that lesson.”

“Look, I’m not stupid,” Leon says. “I saw the shit that was happening. A war between dirty cops and the Russian mob. Followed by … whatever the hell that crap was with crime suddenly dropping.” He shakes his head. “That’s not right.”

“Maybe you aren’t as stupid as you look,” the woman concedes. Leon wishes he could remember her name. He’s sure that either John or Harold mentioned it to him at one point. “I certainly hope so. I want to hire you, Leon."

Leon narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “For what?”

“As an _accountant._ ” Her tone says he should have known that already. “I certainly don’t want you as an EMT.” For the first time Leon notices the bag she carries over one shoulder. In short order, she has it laid out on the table between them and brings out a stack of papers. “Harold Partridge will be out of the country on business for quite some time. He has given joint access of his accounts to Samantha Partridge, his sister.”

“Let me guess,” Leon says dryly. “ _You’re_ Samantha Partridge.”

The woman smirks. “As much as Harold was Harold Partridge.”

 _Of course_ these people - whoever they were - had many different aliases. Leon had been part of various underworlds for too long to think that _any_ name he was given was a real one. He nods in acceptance. His impulse is to take the job - but it’s the same impulse that led him to working with the Aryan Brotherhood, the Russians, and…

Leon has only recently started to consider the idea that he might have _bad_ impulses.

“Why?” he asks, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“ _Because_ , Leon, despite being too dumb to live in a lot of ways, you are actually quite good with numbers and money,” the woman replies. “I’ve seen that myself. _I_ don’t have time to keep up with this financial stuff, and I certainly can’t walk into a Midtown accounting firm with this kind of money and not be faced with questions I can’t answer.”

Leon isn’t so sure of that last part - money does a great job of erasing questions - but he nods again anyways. “And the money? For me, that is.”

With an exaggerated eyeroll, the woman reaches behind her and pulls out yet another bag that Leon managed to miss before. She unzips the large duffel and tosses it at him. Leon’s eyes go wide as he sees how much cash is there.

“That’s six months’ salary,” the woman tells him. “If you do well, I’ll consider giving you a raise. But not too well. Don’t want to get the wrong kind of attention.”

“I can keep it under the radar,” Leon assures her.

“Good. Because if you _don’t_ …” The menace in her eyes as she leans forward makes Leon recoil. “I know every dirty secret about you, Leon, and I know just who to tell those secrets to if I want you to disappear.” She tilts her head. “Do I make myself clear?”

Leon is nodding frantically. “Clear. Crystal.”

She backs off, still wearing that humorless smile. “Have a good evening, Leon.”

 

* * *

 

“ _You know, I could manage those accounts for you.”_

Despite the many turns of phrase that The Machine has appropriated from Root, it’s been surprisingly easy for Shaw to think of them as separate beings. Because they are. The Machine might be using Root’s voice, but it - _she_ \- isn’t Root. _She_ is a powerful supercomputer living in an old subway car, with access to surveillance feeds worldwide.

“You’d do too good of a job at it,” Shaw replies as she walks away from Leon’s small apartment. “That might draw attention. Samaritan’s gone, but there’s still any number of governments or corporations that would want to co-opt or destroy you. Flying under the radar is still going to be our thing.”

“ _I could make mistakes. Pass for human.”_

Shaw shakes her head. “I’m sure you could, but … Harold played everything close to the vest. There’s benefits in that, but there’s also some serious downsides.” She snorts. “Besides, Leon Tao is both too smart and too stupid to be left without supervision. You gave us his number _three times_. I’d rather lock him down as a resource before someone else gets to him.”

“ _You’re the boss.”_ A brief pause. “ _So, which former number are we recruiting next?”_

“Give it a few days. I want to make sure Leon doesn’t break anything, accidentally or otherwise. I just handed him the keys to a _very_ large castle.”

“ _Of course, Shaw. Don’t forget to pick up some more food for Bear before you head back.”_

Shaw resists the urge to reflect on the entirely new and different level of weird her life is these days. If she starts, she might never stop.


	4. Genrika Zhirova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell who my favorite members of Team Machine are? :P

When they pull her out of class and tell her that there’s someone here about her guardianship, Gen tries not to panic. Shaw would _never_ let anything bad happen to her, and Shaw is the scariest person Gen knows.

Gen walks down to the dean’s office and is relieved to see Shaw there, dressed in a suit like Ms. Kent, the dean, often wears. She is standing near the door in front of a long table, with Ms. Kent on the other side of the table, close to the wall. There is a big dog at Shaw’s side, and Gen lets out a squeal of delight at finally getting to meet Shaw’s dog. Shaw says something to the dog in another language, and then the dog bounds forward to lick Gen’s face. Gen kneels so that she’s on a level with the dog, and starts scratching his ears.

Shaw turns her attention to Ms. Kent. “As I was saying, I am Mr. Partridge’s sister. I have all the paperwork here to transfer Ms. Zhirova’s guardianship to me.”

“This is all very irregular,” Ms. Kent says. She looks as flustered as Gen has ever seen her. “Where is Mr. Partridge? How do I know that you’re actually his sister?”

“My drivers license stating that my name is, in fact, Samantha Partridge.” Shaw pulls it out of her pocket, displaying that absolute, unruffled calm that Gen associates with her. “Notarized statement from Harold Partridge detailing our relationship and the business demands that take him abroad indefinitely. Transfer of guardianship paperwork, properly filed and received by the court.”

Gen has no confidence that any of these documents are real. But she doubts that Ms. Kent will ever find that out.

Ms. Kent picks up the papers and starts to rifle through them, running a hand over the raised seal of one of the papers. “I see. I suppose that means that … there won’t be a problem with the money either.”

Shaw goes into scary mode - her face tightening to become expressionless, her body tensing as though ready for a fight. The dean looks startled, even taking a step back from the table. “I’m going to assume that you have simply temporarily overlooked the financial trust that you were given access to when Ms. Zhirova was first enrolled here. The trust that has more than enough money to cover her schooling and other expenses until she is 18.” Shaw tilts her head to the side and gives the dean a cold smile. “Perhaps I should have my accountant take a closer look at the money this school has been withdrawing from that trust. I would hate to have to start looking at other schools for Ms. Zhirova.”

The smile on Ms. Kent’s face is as fake as the one on Shaw’s. “Of course. How silly of me, to overlook the trust. It’s only that this whole situation is so unusual.”

“Yeah, because rich parents don’t ever go overseas and leave you and your staff to care for the kids,” Shaw replies.

Ms. Kent’s face turns even paler than before.“I … believe you’ve made your point.”

Shaw nods. “Good. Now, I’d like some time with my ward.”

The dean can’t leave fast enough. Gen laughs when the door closes, and is surprised to see Shaw _smiling_. It’s a real smile - small, but not the scary type she was showing Ms. Kent. Gen frowns and leans up to poke at Shaw’s cheek.

“Testing to see if I’m a robot?” Shaw asks.

“Yeah,” Gen replies.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Shaw gets down on the same level as the dog and Gen. “I just … I had a friend who helped me turn my emotions up a bit.”

Gen leans her head against the dog. “What’s his name?”

“Bear.” The dog barks at hearing his name, a deep whuff that echoes through Gen’s chest.

“He’s a good dog,” Gen says.

“Well, if _you’re_ good, we’ll come visit you again.”

Gen looks up at Shaw, wide-eyed. “Promise?”

“Pinky-swear,” Shaw replies, absolutely serious as she holds out her pinky for Gen to take. Gen grins back at her and forgets about Shaw not liking hugs. To her surprise, Shaw actually returns the hug. This friend must be someone _really_ special to get to Shaw like that.

“You keeping up with your schoolwork?” Shaw asks when Gen lets go.

“Oh, _now_ you ask that,” Gen replies, grinning.

“Hey. I’ve seen what this school is costing.” Shaw frowns at her, but Gen isn’t feeling any real anger. “You’d better make the honor roll or I may have to reconsider the expense.”

Gen gives an exaggerated sigh. “I hate art class. The teacher keeps saying I have to _feel_ it.” She grimaces. “I don’t, though.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it,” Shaw replies, scratching behind Bear’s ears. “That stuff’s overrated anyways.” She looks up at Gen. “Everything else okay?” She pauses. “Making friends?”

“I don’t have that much in common with them,” Gen says. “Like you said. Lots of rich kids.”

Shaw smiles. “Gen. You’re a rich kid now.”

“I’m still not _like_ them,” Gen insists.

“Nah, you’re right about that.” Shaw ruffles Bear’s ears and then stands up. “Doesn’t mean you can’t make friends. You’re a smart kid, Gen. You do well here, it’ll set you up for anything you want.”

Gen sighs. “I’ll try to make friends,” she says reluctantly. She doesn’t tell Shaw that what she wants to do is what she _was_ doing when Shaw found her. Be a spy. She doesn’t think that Shaw would like that, and so she decides to keep her mouth shut for now.

Shaw nods. “Trying’s all you can do.” She brings a small business card out from the pocket of her jacket. “My email and phone number. You should’ve had this before. Call me if the dean gives you any crap.” She smiles crookedly. “See you soon, Gen.”

Gen brightens. _Soon_ means that Shaw will be coming back, like she said she might. Possibly even that she’ll be back for the next school vacation. She waves at Shaw as she leaves, digging out her phone and putting Shaw’s information in. She remembers to label her as _Samantha Partridge_.

Gen heads back to her class, feeling much better. Shaw’s visit has reminded Gen that she is not alone. That there is someone out there who truly cares about her, not like her druggie cousin.

Life is much better when you have someone to watch over you.


	5. Grace Hendricks

Some nights, it seems like Harold doesn’t sleep at all.

He wakes Grace up with his restless movements, and no matter how many times she tells him it’s fine, he always apologizes to her.

Grace took a little too long to catch on to the fact that he’s apologizing for more than lost nights of sleep.

Harold tells her everything. Eventually. The story comes out in small bits, starting with the fact that he had been the one she was traded for, back when Greer had kidnapped her. The fact that _he_ had been the one to stabilize her when she lost her balance. He tells her how he savored that simple interaction for months afterwards.

That leads into telling her about the people she encountered. Samantha Groves. Lionel Fusco. Sameen Shaw. John Reese. He talks more about Fusco and Shaw than the other two, at first, and eventually she realizes it’s because Groves and Reese are dead. That he feels responsible for their deaths, a burden he will carry with him for the rest of his life.

Only after she points out the holes in one of his stories for what feels like the hundredth time does he finally tell her about the _other_ person that had an impact on both of their lives. The Machine he built, the one he had a contentious relationship with for so long. A being that he eventually came to regard as his child.

Harold weeps when he tells her how he sentenced his Machine to die to defeat Samaritan.

She holds him, and wishes that she could have known this child of his.

* * *

They get married. He takes her new last name, the one that his friends gave her before she left New York.

Grace continues to paint. She worries, for a time, that her income won’t be enough to support both of them. She’s unwilling to ask Harold to start working again, given how shell-shocked he is, but he comes to that conclusion on his own.

Harold gets a job at the nearest computer shop. He speaks enough Italian to be able to communicate with his colleagues and they appreciate a native English speaker to help with the tourists. Now more than ever, she knows how small this is compared to what he’s been doing, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The one time she presses him on it, he tells her that he likes the simplicity of this work, and she’s content to leave it alone after that.

One day, Grace is coming back from a meeting in a taxi when the driver inexplicably takes the wrong route, cursing and blaming his GPS the whole way. They wind up at the airport, and the taxi just flat out stops.

Grace pays him the full fee while the driver swears and kicks at the bumper. It’s the airport; there are plenty of taxis around. She’s walking towards the arrivals area when she hears her name.

Her _real_ name.

She’s turned towards the sound, involuntarily, and feels panic rising in her chest. On the nearest pedestrian island, she sees a slim black-haired woman, a girl that looks to be about thirteen years old, and a large dog. 

Grace’s panic recedes as she realizes that the woman is familiar.

“Sorry for startling you,” the newcomer says. She waits for a car to pass before crossing the street, the girl and dog at her side. The girl has a backpack and a suitcase, while the other woman only has a small duffel bag slung across her shoulder. The dog is on a leash, but is so well behaved that Grace suspects the leash is for the benefit of everyone else. “I wanted a chance to talk to you before we go surprise Harold.”

Grace finally remembers where she’s seen the woman before. She was one of the people that intervened when Greer took her to use against Harold. Sameen Shaw. “Oh! It’s good to meet you! I mean, I met you already, but not _really…_ ”

“I know what you mean,” Shaw replies. She walks forward and offers a hand to Grace, who takes it. Shaw’s palms are calloused, rough, but her smile is friendly. “This is Genrika Zhirova, my ward.”

The large Belgian Malinois barks once.

“And this is Bear,” Shaw adds hastily. Laughing softly, Grace holds out her hand for the dog to sniff, and he gives it a lick.

“Grace, I have to ask,” Shaw says. “How much has Harold told you?”

Ah. This would be why they wanted to meet with her first —

And how odd it is, that she’s out at the airport at exactly the right time —

Grace puts it all together and inhales sharply. “The Machine. It’s alive?”

“That would be everything, then.” Shaw nods, looking pleased. “That makes things easier.”

A black SUV pulls up to the curb besides them. The driver — a slim, middle-aged man whose hair is graying at the temples — gets out and gives a crisp bow to Shaw, opening the back door for her. Shaw nods, handing her bag to the driver. “C’mon. We’ll give you a lift.”

“Since my taxi conveniently went off course and then died for no apparent reason?” Grace responds wryly, fighting back the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Harold had been so sure that part of his life was over. That he would never see the people he loved so much again.

“Our friend works in mysterious ways,” Shaw says.

Grace smiles at her, feeling a burden lift from her shoulders that she hadn’t realized was there until that moment. She can't wait to see Harold’s face when they get home.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give requests for other characters - I can't guarantee that I'll follow through, but it might give me an idea worth running with :)


End file.
